hazy pounding in my brain
waves, shoving the storm closer to my skin
my eyes on the muted desk
my eyes brimming with the rain

the stars, quite literally,
aligned for the sweet & sour
meddling of the human race.
an artistic, feuding mortality now born,
thanks to the haphazard and
wildly unlikely mix of
tingling elements.
humans, we are in a
tiny sliver of time.
the stars, oh wow, they gave us
our legs and quickly enough
an unearthly load of growing pains.
a prophecy, a gift, a humble endowment
of neuroplasticity.
the tiniest sliver of time, where the stars
aligned, for the tiniest burst of
clumsy, hopeful light.
in these star-kissed structures we grow,
fail, fail more and fail again until
finally we decide which failure defines
our livelihood– a raw and honorable
pursuit which is not our ultimate
footprint. the starts, they know,
they die.
we must live our lives knowing
that we are in a sliver of time.

there is a deity in my brain cells
electricity, swift connections and
bursts of cellular interaction give me
a spirit, a will to live, a desire leave
something behind
drill down. you can find the soldiers
that built the person you see, smiling
electrons, a meaningless structure made
for human purpose
zoom into the clouds and you will find it hard
to breathe, to see, to persevere
the spirit you feel is embedded
in you
there are only stars in the sky

I am graced
with the ability to examine,
to see, to think,
that I am not living.
And when I realize this
I feel punctured,
foolish,
restlessly pensive.
I am cursed with
an anxious tendency.
why why why
I have everything– How could
I be
like
this
if I
have
everything?
I am graced
with the ability to examine,
to grow, to change
And when I realize this
I know I will win.
and this analysis - I promise -
will yield results.

what comes after
does not
belong
to
m
e
o
nly
what
happens
in the present

each one of my days
has a number
the numbers have been passing

at age 19, I knew this:
in order to live,
you must be conscious of the numbers

you must be awake,
life must be in your brain
veins are not good enough

every moment,
the numbers increase
and I start to see colors more

Dear Mr. Sunshine,
I always paint you pictures–
Large, sweeping canvases
of my ramblings. Often,
my paintbrush is hazy.
Fogged up with the tropical,
heavy-weight air of future-obsession.
Incertitude-crazy.

Mr. Sunshine,
You are quiet humility.
You are imperfect and simultaneously
You are flawless.
Your kindness is the vastness
of the West. Exceeding.
And lawless.

My Sunshine,
You paint my murky canvas
Adoringly
so yellow.

I suppose that,
As an author,
No one would bother
To think,
Or to ponder,
At the multicolored tubings of our minds.
Blind, they would rather be,
To the undying wonder
Of a brain that is simply mine,
Or a brain that is simply their own,
For we are all aware–
Although it remains unknown–
That we are each Pacific Oceans,
Grasping on to the tide of hope,
Undulating in anticipation,
Bursting at the seams
That our hearts try
Yet fail to scope,
As authors.


Cameron Bell, Copyright © 2019

You, you are a
Thermodynamic
Buoyant
Force
******* like the
single-minded
Octopus
that takes and takes
Strong energy,
mild energy
Inhales the organically-grown
Petals
of all flowers, regardless
Good intentions.
that sure is nice
What humility,
Artificial
Plastic
Egotistical
Manufactured
Trademarked
Birthed  
Regurgitated
and
too thoughtfully acted by
You.
But I see it.
You have
not landed.
The world needs your
footprint but
it does not need your self-indulged
hunger.
Be humble.
Your success is not
marked if
You are not humble.
Keep your tentacles
in your depths and
Be
Poised
Poised you seem to be and success is your process but
Humility is my truth.
We float on
neighboring clouds of
public service
that have not the same hue.
Take a step back.
I see you mean
No harm
like a dinosaur with no arms
Good intentions.
Take a step back.
You desire to envelop others yet
You do so
so
mindlessly
I see it.
Let your brain rest from the throne.
the world does not serve you
It serves nothing
and no one as
We are all lucky.
You say that you’re lucky
For all
to hear
just to endear
And that is the problem
My dear, be poised.
Publicize your life for
documentation?
No
Take a step back.
We need your
love
compassion
independence
ambition
Real
not fake.
Transform this and
Good intentions.
The world is not yours
You walk on its leaf
and repeated, recycled
identities
Take a step back.
The world is not yours.


Cameron Bell, Copyright © 2019

Faith is a golden coil
That fits so greatly in the binding
Of texts that
Dictate a non-universal
Truth
Faith is a silver coil
That wraps around you nicely
Tightly
When times are hard and
Icy
Faith is a copper coil,
Cheap, commonly used and
Slithers, a bronze snaking cloud
Seeping quickly into
Permeable minds
Faith is an aluminum coil,
The easy way out.
Steals from your conscious
What can be found in
Yourself
Faith is essential
Needed to man
And to man armies
Unable to feel soft,
Cotton-ball faith
Anymore


Cameron Bell, Copyright © 2019